Lucky
by Made of Stardust
Summary: Angsty!Harry one-shot, fluffy ending, please read and review! I'll love you forever.


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A/N – Wellllll, I had this published a while ago, but I took it down with the intention of working on it. Then I realized I had deleted the file. Go me. Anyhow, here it is. I am a review whore, by the way, so even if you hate it, let me know!

Disclaimer: sniffle They're not mine. All I own are some Beatles cds and History textboooks. And a carton of chocolate soymilk. 

Oh, and by the way… the random lyrics I've thrown about in here are from the song "Perfect Blue Buildings" by Counting Crows.

Harry Potter sat alone in his room. 8:30 pm, in the second bedroom of number four, Privet Drive. He knew why he had to be here yet another summer, but it didn't mean he had to like it. In fact, he didn't see a reason to like anything anymore. Why should he? Was everything that was happening his fault?

A sharp knock on the door shattered his thoughts. He didn't bother answering, and Aunt Petunia opened the dor anyway. "Food" he heard her say, and she left without looking at him. The stairs creaked slightly, announcing her departure.

A familiar bowl of lukewarm soup lay just inside the room, now. There were even some slightly stale crackers. Harry walked over and surveyed it with disgust. After a moment, he kicked it hard to the far side of the room, and watched it shatter. It didn't make him feel any better, and he sat back against upon bed again.

He sighed and stared up at the ceiling. He tried to stifle his yawns, and keep his mind working on normal things…Quidditch, where Hedwig was… He couldn't stop thinking, not even if he wanted to. If he let his mind alone to wander, he knew what it would bring back to him. He yawned and tried to keep his eyes open against the growing darkness. 

Sleeping was worse than his lonely waking hours. He could have been downstairs, true... But why bother with his cousin, Aunt and Uncle? They didn't understand. Sleeping was worse than being awake. A steady flow of images flashed across his subconscious mind, making rest into torture. And he could do nothing against it.

-Ain't this position familiar, darling-

-Well, all monekys do what they see-

-Help me stay awake, I'm falling…-

__

He felt someone holding him back – he wanted to help! Sirius needed him, he couldn't hold Bellatrix off, Harry sensed it. Sirius needed someone, quickly! He tried to yell, but his voice made no sound. He wanted to cry, or to look away, but he couldn't tear his eyes from the scene before him. He watched helplessly as the jet of red light hit Sirius, over and over…

-It's 4:30 A.M. on a Tuesday-

-It doesn't get much worse than this-

-In beds in little rooms in buildings in the middle-

-Of these lives which are completely meaningless-

-Help me stay awake, I'm falling…-

Harry woke drenched in sweat, twisted in sheets and nightclothes. The streetlamps glowed a faint, cold light through his window. The glowing light on the clock said 4:28 am. Why did he have to watch this? Wasn't it bad enough to have seen Sirius – and not be able to do anything – just the once? Why couldn't he stop himself from dreaming…? Sirius. He had felt safer with Sirius around. He'd been a connection to the parents Harry had never known. The parents that now stood in a shadow of doubt inside Harry's mind. Sirius had been a friend. He'd been something to hold onto when everything else was coming undone. 

And in the end, Sirius himself was undone. He was gone. 

-You got an attitude of everything I ever wanted-

-I got an attitude of need-

-Help me stay awake, I'm falling…-

__

Harry went to the window, and scanned the rooftops for Hedwig. She was a friend who had not deserted him yet. She would be home, with a mourse or grasshopper in her beak, expecting praise. She didn't mind if he woke her up at night, yelling out in his dreams. She might bring him back mail, Harry thought, from Ron or Hermione. It would be great to hear from them. Just to let him know they cared. But why would they? They were probably busy.

Why would they write, he wondered again. After he had treated them so badly all year long. But – he leaned onto the windowsill – why shouldn't he have yelled at them? They didn't know how he felt. They couldn't begin to imagine. He rubbed his forhead. They had each other – prefects. They didn't need to worry about Harry Potter.

-I got bones beneath my skin, and mister…-

-There's a skeleton in every man's house-

-Beneath the dust and love and sweat that hangs on everybody-

-There's a dead man trying to get out-

-Please help me stay awake, I'm falling…-

__

Harry Potter, he thought, the marked man. Who'd want to talk with him? He was just going to die, anyhow. Voldemort would come for him. Someday. And he would finish him, finish what he'd started the night he had murdered – NO. Harry shook his head. But he could hear the high, cold voice, mockingly telling him:

"Come, the niceities must be observed… … Bow to Death, Harry…"

His eyes felt hot, and he rubbed away the tears that were welling before they could overflow down his face. It was all too much. He didn't want to die. Why was the responsibility on him? He was not great. He was lucky, he thought bitterly. He didn't feel he had any special talent, or power. How could anyone expect him to be the one indicated by the prophecy? 

All right – he though, walking back to his bed, now – When you consider that Neville is the other option…

But he – Harry Potter – was simply very, very lucky. Hah. He snorted derisively at his luck. His thoughts fell like this, into a line, as he drifted back to a semi-conscois sleep.

The next morning dawned cool, and clear. Hedwig was back, hooting softly in her cage when he woke. She had brought with her two letters, from Ron and Hermione. Harry smiled as he opened them and read:

"Dear Harry, I haven't heard from you in ages, I was worried. I hope you're feeling proper, I thought it might be nice if I sent you a cheering charm in my letter…"

"Oi, Harry! How've you been? I wanted to try the 'telephone' again. Dad wouldn't let me. But I thought after meeting Mad-Eye, your uncle wouldn't have much to say…"

Harry laughed out loud. Softly, at first, and then outright. Maybe it was Herione's cheering charm. Or maybe it was remembering Uncle Vernon's face as he saw Moody's magical eye, but he felt a little better. And he realized – not for the first time, but for the first time in a long time – that in quite a few ways, he was most definitely lucky. 


End file.
